


Translation

by Frayach



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frayach/pseuds/Frayach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Translation

**Translation**

The famous writer once said  
that all words should come from a moment  
of pre-verbal connection, the very moment  
language curls back like burnt  
paint and truth is revealed - strange  
and utterly familiar. The man rising  
mid-morning, his cramped studio awash  
in cold November light. He is not yet  
fully awake, but he is walking  
toward the sink full of dishes, tying  
the sash of his bathrobe. On  
the white counter top is an  
orange. Outside, a voice -  
belonging to a child? an  
old woman? - lifts in song  
or lament above the never-ending  
babble of traffic. Suddenly  
everything is still.  
He sits down at the table, peels  
the orange and begins  
to write.

 

5/11/05


End file.
